I used to dream of doing big things for God.
For years it was just the two of us, my husband and me, following his guitar and my passions. We moved often, always pursuing the next ministry opportunity, the next gig. We were proud of the fact that our life did not look like our friends’ back home. We wanted more. We dreamed of a big faith, a life full of great stories. We dreamed of doing important work for God.
Then I lost a baby, and my dreams became achingly ordinary.
After that, what I wanted most in the world was what my friends back home already had. I wanted a reliable paycheck and a driveway of my own. I wanted sleepless nights and tiny clothes to fold. In time, I got it. Followed by three more. Four little stair steps, back to back to back to back.
Now I have different dreams.
I dream of a quiet afternoon in a clean house. But more than that, I dream of being faithful in the minutia. Back then I wanted to do big things for God. Now I want to do small things well.
I want to talk to my husband and really hear him. I want to see him as he is, not as I expect him to be. I want to notice the people around me, the very pregnant neighbor, or the woman down the pew who lives alone. I want to pray more, love better, argue less. I want to be a peace maker – in church, online, within my family. I want to connect with my children. I want to fill their hearts with the dreams and passions that once fueled mine. I want a home marked by peace and kindness.
I used to dream of doing big things for God. But now I know. This house, this neighborhood, these children, this husband, this church – this is my big thing.